


five times sam catches steve (and the one time steve caught him)

by lesprita



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 5+1 Things, M/M, Male Character of Color
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-13
Updated: 2014-03-13
Packaged: 2018-01-14 17:58:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1275694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesprita/pseuds/lesprita
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We all need someone to catch us when we fall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	five times sam catches steve (and the one time steve caught him)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Scriba](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scriba/gifts).



The psychs on SHIELD payroll make him feel more out of place, like maybe he’s outdated where it counts. They don’t mean it, of course, but it happens anyway. He doesn’t need to feel that way anymore than he has to, so he stopped going. Fury tried (half-heartedly) to get him to keep going to the appointments, but it’s not mandatory and there are bigger issues at hand than a 90–something year old soldier not discussing his feelings. Natasha didn’t have any thoughts on the matter, except he knows she does because he swears she didn’t point out his lack of a social life before. 

He smiles tightly at that because, well, she’s not wrong, is she?

But when it’s night and it’s just him alone in his room with the fan quietly running on the ceiling and only the plaster white wall as company, the battle in New York plays in his mind over and over. Steve can’t quite figure out why. It was a war, just like the second big one years ago, except instead of Nazis, it’s humanity against robot aliens led by a genocidal norse god. His team pulled together, as much as they couldn’t stand each other, and they won. 

They won the war (the mantra repeats itself over and over again), and every time he closes his eyes, the battle sequences recycles over and over again behind closed lids. The smell of burned metal. The black smoke in the sky. Mouth full of blood. The instinct to watch his back, watch the damn sky for more of the monsters. Screams. The wormhole. He doesn’t know why he keeps thinking about that day and he just wants to sleep without having dreams. The docs at SHIELD don’t get it, try as they might. They don’t understand ( “ _That doesn’t sound like a nightmare, Mr. Rogers_.” ) and it makes Steve feel more alone ( “ _It’s... not_.” ). He’s sure Natasha has better things to do than listen to his drivels. So, he keeps it to himself and focuses on assignments. Missions distract him from his personal thoughts from wondering somewhere too deep and painful. 

–

On behest of Fury, Natasha introduces Steve to the new SHIELD agent, Falcon. Seasoned soldier. Aerobic combatant specialist. In the U.S Armed Forces, he was just Sam Wilson.

“We’ll be working with him from now on,” she says as they shake hands. It’s a cordial enough meeting. Steve doesn’t pursue any companionship and Sam doesn’t push for anything other than a cooperative teammate. 

And that’s it. Until Sam catches him when he falls. 

 

*****

Thousands of feet above San Diego, there’s a terrorist threat with a stolen SHIELD helipad. Apparently, it doesn’t matter how they got it and, therefore, it doesn’t matter to Steve. 

He’s falling fast. The wind sucks the breath from his body and Steve prepares himself for the ice cold impact of the water below. He doesn’t have time to berate himself for the greenhorn error before a pair of hands hook under his arms. His stomach lurches at the sudden shift in movement and he looks up and sees Falcon in his dark goggles, wearing even darker mechanical wings on his back. It’s long spread out and Steve could swear it was a _part_ of him. 

“Got you!” Sam yells over the wind, teeth gritted together, looking straight ahead. Another lurch and they’re headed toward one of the helicarriers following them. Steve’s feet land on the platform first before the rest of them follows. Sam glances behind as the door starts shutting. 

“That would have been a nasty fall,” he says, lightly. The wings close swiftly behind him. Steve, his barrings gathered, shrugs one shoulder. “It could’ve been worse,” he replies at length.

Sam lifts his goggles above his eyes and there’s some levity that lifts a corner of Steve’s mouth. 

“Thanks.” 

“Don’t mention it.”

–

Natasha walks with Steve out of a debriefing. “So?” she asks after some amicable silence. 

“So what?” 

“Is he deigned to work with you?” 

Steve snorts and doesn’t reply. Natasha knows the answer anyhow based on the smirk on her face.

 

******  
 ****

Steve gets shot out of a glass window of a building eight days later. 

Not good. N _otgoodnotgoodnotgoodnotgoodnotgoodtoofast._

As he’s falling, he sees a bird out of the corner of his eye. 

Instinctively, he has his shield and braces himself for the impact of the cars down below. Instead, firm hand grips his leather straps and descends them swiftly on the concrete sidewalk. Steve lands in a run and he sees Sam still in the air, the wings spread and heat from the back bursting red and orange. Sam glances at the retreating enemy ahead before returning his attention on the Captain. “Are you–?” 

“Move, I’m right behind you!” Steve orders and picks up speed sprinting after the criminals in the getaway cars. Sam immediately complies and flies ahead, the graceful speed reminding Steve a little of a bird on the move to catch a prey. The Falcon makes an arch maneuver before ascending higher in the air and fires an array of bullets at the black van speeding away. 

 –

Six hours later, Steve walks in on the SHIELD headquarters lounge to find Sam there, brewing coffee. It’s midnight and the smell is strong. He notices Sam changed into some cargo pants and a plain white shirt. Sam returns a nod Steve gives him. “They couldn’t keep you in the med bay?” 

Steve headed for the cabinet for a power bar. “The injures weren’t that serious. Just nicks.” He rummages past the junk and can foods.

“Hn.” Sam gets out his mug and rinses it with faucet water. 

Steve arches a brow at the coffee maker. “Isn’t it a bit late for that?”

“Nah. Need it for the ride home,” he replies, taking a pack of sugar from the pantry. There was a light bandage on his left cheek and few gauges over his arms. 

Steve pauses on his hunt for the nutrient bars. “Are those serious?” He nods at the bandages. It's hard to ignore, especially if he's responsible for whatever injury his teammates attain. Sam waves a hand dismissively.

“Just scratches. You should’ve seen the first week I tested out the wings,” he answers, then chuckles slightly. “Now _that_ was some scary shit.” 

Steve’s lips twitch. “Did you crash into a tree?” 

Sam snorts. “You wish. No, one of my buddies thought it would be funny to test my speed. He was rock-climbing and fell while I was flying around just to see if I could catch him. I didn’t and he ended up breaking an arm. Freakin' idiot.”

Apparently, this was a fond memory because his gaze on the coffee pot is soft. 

Maybe it’s because of the fondness that lace his words or maybe it’s because he finally finds the power bars, but for whatever reason, Steve thinks the room is too small for them both. “Have a safe trip.”

He exists and when he finally, finally makes it outside and sees the city lights, he realizes that he crushed the four power bars in his hand. He doesn't have it in him to care.

 –

Steve has a dream. He doesn’t remember what it was and he doesn’t think it was bad, but he wakes up coated in sweat with the sheets sprawled on the floor. The fan spins lazily overhead and only the clock on the wall makes any noise. 

He thinks of a forest smelling of pine trees and gun smoke. He thinks even further back to a past he cannot go back to. The people who made him a part of something bigger than himself, who he will never be able to thank or see again.

This was worse.

 

 *******  

Their unit is at the coast of the Black Sea; it's vast and the salt water is dangerously thick. As he falls, Steve realizes this might actually _hurt_. He barely hears Black Widow in his comm link as he braces himself for the crash into the water.

It never comes. 

Someone rushes at him from the side, almost knocking the air out of his body, and carries him with firm arms. “We really have to stop meeting like this,” Sam says conversationally. 

Steve's brow furrows, though Sam can't see it. “Weren’t you..?”

“In L.A? Well, change of plans,” he replies. He veers them up, then straight ahead. “Fury decided I was more needed here.” 

“Really.” Steve doesn’t bother to hide the disbelief. 

“Said something about Captain hotshot having a grudge against parachutes.”

Steve almost snorts, but Natasha’s voice is finally heard through the static. “Everyone okay?” 

“We’re good,” Sam replies. “About to chase the bad guys.” 

“Before you boys do, I think you ought to know some important details.” 

“What?” Steve stares with Sam at the helicopter they’re fast approaching. 

“They have w–” She doesn’t get to finish. From the helicopter, the small name terrorists fire multiple mini missiles from bazookas. 

“Damn,” Sam says under his breath, before he clips his wings and makes a nose dive. It’s like they’re falling again, only he gracefully navigates from the bold explosions that follow. Ascends upwards and goes as fast as the wings can carry them. Two missiles still follow. 

Captain America manages to clasp his shield on his forearm. “Can you get me in close with the missiles tailing us?” 

Falcon grins. "Hang on!”

He makes good on his boast. 

– 

Forty-three hours later, Steve walks in the gym and sees Natasha and Sam Wilson in there talking. Both have on work out clothes, but only Sam has the sweat to prove he was in here first. As soon as Steve arrives, however, both drop whatever conversation they are having. Natasha waves him over. 

“You busy Saturday?” she asks as soon as he joins them. He looks at her wearily before glancing at Sam. Sam holds a perfectly neutral smile on his face.

“Not exactly...?” 

“Good,” Sam says in approval. “I was just inviting Natasha to a Memorial’s day event down at the Washington Center. We’re thinking you should come too.”

Steve frowns. “Actually, now that I think about it, I am kind of busy.”

Natasha’s own smile is a little too sweet. “Fury doesn’t have a schedule for you this weekend. I checked.” 

Steve represses a sigh. Of course she did. 

“It’s not a big thing,” Sam says quickly. “There’s no press, but plenty of food.” 

Both of his teammates are expectant and as much as he wants to say no, he realizes there’s no excuse to get him out of this one. He slumps his shoulders in defeat. “What time?”

– 

It’s not as bad as he thinks. 

 

•••• 

As he reaches the edge of the flat roof and watches the retreating form of a paramilitary group, Steve realizes he needs a ride _now._ He clicks on the comm link. “Fury, I’m going to need air support asap.” 

Fury’s voice is static on the other end. “Stay in position, you’ll have support in five minutes.” 

Steve scowls. “I’ll lose the target.”

“I’m stretched out here, Cap. Either wait or improvise.”

Great. Steve looks around, but the roof is vacant of anything remotely useful for transportation. A thought strikes him and he’s about to press on the ear piece again, going to ask about a certain agent who _can_ fly – when he hears a weak pulse under his feet. The sounds of metal cutting through air is the warning Steve gets before a second later, a helicopter goes right from under the building. The coordination of the piloting looks pathetic and it dawns on him that these are the lackies that were left behind. “Okay,” he mumbles under his breath, backing up a couple of steps. “Improvise it is.” 

Steve takes a running start, boots kicking gravel, and he leaps.

If he were even a second late or only an inch away, he would have taken a _long_ fall in the rubble infested streets below. However, his gloved hand catches the foothold in a tight grip and Steve silently thanks whatever god that was listening that this worked. 

Of course, his thoughts of gratitude is premature. 

A desperate red haired man checks out whatever caused the slight dip of their ride and goes pale at the sight of Captain America. “Guys, it’s him, it’s _him!_ Shake him!”

Steve narrows his eyes and swings his legs, with the rest of his body weight following suite, back and forth like a child would on a monkey bar. It gains momentum and, to the terrorist’s horror, Steve is in the doorway the next moment, holding on the entrance door. He looks at each of the four evenly. 

“If you surrender and give me this carrier,” he says. “I promise you’ll spend less than five months in the hospital.”

The response was a big ‘fuck you’ if he’s ever seen one. All four brandish their guns and fires at will. Steve has his shield up and the bullets ricochet off the vibranium plate. One of it, unfortunately, hits the pilot. The man slumps on his seat and his handle on the controls go lax. The helicopter dips down to the left, causing anything that isn’t strapped to fall and slide and the red haired terrorist that discovered him loses his balance. And of course, _of course_ he bumps into Steve just as the avenger catches his own balance.

They both fall. When Steve tries grabbing a hold of the foot hold again, he isn’t so lucky. 

It slips past his fingers and all he hears is the rushing wind with the sound of the man screaming. He clutches on Steve like a helpless infant and all Steve can feel is mortification. _This_ is how he’ll die? At the hands of second rate terrorists? 

They drop several feet and before his arm goes down, a hand grabs his. Steve feels the joint in his shoulder pop at the sudden pull in opposite direction. He grimaces at the sharp pain, but tightens his grip.

“Sorry!” Falcon yells, the mechanical wings spread. Steve’s relief is cut short when he notices the coils of muscle in Sam’s arms are in knots and the engines of his wings run harder than usual. 

He frowns and asks, loud enough for him to hear, “Can you support us?”

“No. Not really!” Sam replies. "“The wings weren’t meant for three!” He navigates them away from the path of the descending helicopter with two Shield carriers flanking it, somehow managing to get the ride in control. 

“Oh, god, _oh god,_ please don’t drop me, _please!_ ” the terrorist is sobbing and Steve sighs, oddly feeling second hand embarrassment for him. 

He couldn’t see Sam roll his eyes, but hears it in his voice. “Relax, I’m not dropping anyone.”

Sam flies them to a nearby roof and drops his passengers before landing himself. The engines on his back choke and spit out smoke. The wings retract. Steve doesn’t miss it. 

“What’s wrong?”

Sam waves off the wispy smoke away and unbuckles the straps. “Nothing. It’s almost tapped out.” 

The carrier with the main group becomes a spot in the distance and the sirens below address the commotion below. He watches Sam inspect the contraption and wipe more smoke clear. 

 _Doesn’t look like nothing_. But Steve doesn’t comment and instead secures the crying red haired terrorist, awaiting for a helipad to retrieve them.

–

Sam spends the night at Shield headquarters. He’s in the lab room with dissembled parts of his pack on the long table along with two hot pockets and a can of pepsi. The room is cold and smells like burnt chemicals. Steve is at the doorway, arms folded.

“Widow told me what happened,” he says when Sam notices him. “You put yourself in danger.”

Sam smiles wryly, putting down the utensil he was holding carefully. “Part of the job, right?” 

“It was unnecessary. If something happened to your pack, your wings could have malfunctioned. You could have crashed before getting to me.” _You would have died in vain_. Steve doesn’t voice that last bit, but he might as well have. 

Sam arches a brow. “You know, you’re the last person on Earth that should be lecturing me about this.” 

“Actually, I’m the most qualified,” Steve walks in and takes a seat at the table, across from the other man. “Especially on ops with me.” 

“You literally jump out of planes without a parachute and _I’m_ reckless?” 

“I’m the one with the Serum.” 

“Doesn’t mean you’re incapable of dying.” 

Steve purses his lips. “I’m serious. If you knew there was something wrong with the wing pack, why didn’t you stay where you were?”

Sam picks up the utensil and continues his work. “Why do you think?” 

“Sam...” 

“You’re a soldier too, Cap. Maybe from a different era, maybe from a different world, but you _know_ ,” he glances at him briefly, inviting the super soldier to contradict him. “You know what it means to have a soldier in your unit die because you weren't strong enough. Then have his or her death haunt you because you can't understand..." There's a pause. Sam stops his tinkering and stares vacantly at his aerial weapon. 

There’s nothing more to say to that and it's a good thing too. Steve feels cotton in his throat. 

–

Sam gets it and Steve doesn’t know the implications of that.

 

•••••

There is an ambush this time. 

Captain America and a select few are on orders to protect a man of interest to both SHIELD and unsavory extremist groups. The security perimeter is firm with Falcon in the skies on standby and Black Widow covering the main group’s six. It goes smoothly enough until they come under attack. In the man’s office, several gunmen run burst through the door and open fire. His team makes quick work of dispatching them and as Steve goes to retrieve his shield, one of the gunmen throws a grenade.

The blast is strong enough that Steve is propelled out a window (what else is new?), but weak enough that there’s no danger from burns. This time the window was already broken, so he doesn’t feel tiny blades cut his exposed skin. Normally, this wouldn’t be a problem except his _shield is embedded into a wall_ and there’s nothing to break his fall. 

He only drops around twelve feet before a dark blur under him flies upward and catches him. Arms encircle his waist. 

“What about the charge?!” Steve asks, making himself heard. 

Sam doesn’t miss a beat. “You can find out yourself!”

Steve has the impulse to remind him of the objective, but doesn’t have to. Falcon half tosses, half drops him in the broken window as he flies by and Steve lands on a roll before continuing the mission as if he hadn’t fallen at all.

–

Steve wakes up a quarter to three in the morning and remembers the dream that woke him up. The fan on the ceiling still rotates lazily and the clock on the white wall is still the only other noise in his room, but somehow... it doesn’t feel the same. It doesn’t hold the same emptiness as before. 

_You’re a soldier too, Cap._

Funny how that almost slips his mind.

 

– x 

 

Steve remembers the last time he saw a bird fall. 1944. Before his last mission with Bucky. They were in Poland and Steve was half-heartedly sketching some doodle when a shot in the frozen air made him jump. Before he could even grab his shield close at hand, he hears familiar laughter and then he knew they were not under attack. He remembers looking at where the shot was aimed for and seeing a red bird – maybe a robin – falling, stiff as a board. He remembers thinking, _looks like stone_. He let General Phillips yell at the guys for fucking around as he went back to his doodles. He never gave the dead bird or unkind laughter or the sunless, gray sky a second thought. 

Steve remembers the last time he saw a bird fall as he watches Falcon get shot in mid air. The team is in the middle of trying to locate the would–be assassins of a visiting politician and Black Widow had speculated a sniper is around the area. Falcon was checking the skies when it happens. He sees Sam’s body stiffen and then go limp in the same second as he drops. His wings don’t even retract right away and it looks as though his back is leading the way with the steel wings tailing after before disappearing into the pack. Steve _remembers_ and he’s moving before his mind could process what the hell just happened. The weather is humid, the sun bright, there’s no cruel laughter, but he thinks about that red bird falling faster than any stone he’s ever thrown. He doesn’t listen to Black Widow’s voice in his ear, all he can hear is the sound of the three gunshots.

Captain America cannot fly. He doesn’t have a crimson and gold suit, doesn’t have gamma rays to enhance his leap, doesn’t have a mythical hammer to allow him the flight to help him catch Sam.

_You know what it means to have a soldier in your unit die because you weren't strong enough._

As he’s sprinting, he straps his shield to his back and he picks up the speed. He takes a huge leap and catches Sam in his arms just in time as his body passes the rooftop. A split second before they crash on the hood of a Honda, Steve twists his body around while clutching onto Sam for the crash to face his back. The shield takes the entire blow and Steve is only winded, but quickly recovers to look after his teammate. 

Sam is unconscious. Steve sits up with Sam’s body still as death. Gently, he cradles his neck and, using his teeth, he takes off his glove to gingerly feel Sam's pulse with two fingers. The pulse strong and steady to his relief. He doesn’t see any blood and as he inspects him, three bullets, long as his index finger, drop on the badly dented roof from Sam's uniform. He blinks and when he returns his attention to him, Sam is already struggling to wake up. Relief almost makes him sag. “Sam? Can you hear me?” 

It takes a moment or two, but he gets a low grunt in response. Steve finally responds to the comm link only to order for a med squad. 

Sam's eyes flutter open and Steve’s frame shields him from the sun and casts a long shadow. He’s looks pained, but manages in a rasp voice, “Nice catch.” 

Steve crooks a smile. “I learned from the best.” 

–

The images of carnage from two wars still haunt his dreams. It’s not something that can be erased with a conversation with someone who has never scene a comrade die in their very eyes. Sometimes, he remembers his failures and regrets in his own past and it’s enough to wake him at night. But he knows he belongs now. He sees it as he visits Sam in the infirmary and the other man looks pleasantly surprised to see him. He sees it when Natasha comes by and they spend the entire visiting hours with Sam.

He sees it when, as he's the last to go, he kisses Sam on the lips and Sam is actually kissing him back. For once, he doesn’t feel out of place, like an observer.

Steve Rogers is here to stay.

 

 


End file.
